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Chapter 14 - Martial King?

The crowd held its breath as Duō Zen stepped onto Platform Six, his very presence commanding silence. Zen was a force to behold, his body forged like iron, each muscle sculpted with precision yet compact, revealing only a fraction of the immense power contained within. His deep blue eyes, calm yet unyielding, seemed to pierce straight through the arena. Black hair framed his tanned face, kept in check by a simple headband, giving him the rugged, indomitable look of a warrior born for battle.

He wore no shirt, as if mocking those who needed armor to protect themselves. His fists were wrapped in sleek black cestuses, their metallic sheen catching the sunlight, promising ruin to anything they struck. Many in the audience whispered that Zen looked less like a man and more like a martial king who had stepped out of an ancient mural—unshakable, immovable, forged by stone and fire.

On the opposite side stood Duō Míng, cloaked in mystery. His form was wrapped in dark robes that obscured his build, a hood drawn low over his face. A mask concealed his features, leaving only sharp blue eyes visible beneath the shadow. If Zen was the image of raw, immovable might, then Míng was the embodiment of speed and unpredictability.

In each hand, he carried his signature weapons: a pair of wind and fire wheels—circular blades that gleamed with contrasting energies. One shimmered faintly red, its edges heated as if kissed by flame; the other was tinged with blue, exuding a chilling aura that made the air feel brittle. His robes fluttered lightly as if stirred by a breeze only he could command, giving him the appearance of a shadow always one step from vanishing.

The announcer's voice cut through the tension, echoing across the vast arena."On Platform Six: Duō Zen versus Duō Míng! Begin!"

There was no pause. Míng moved first, his body blurring into motion. In an instant, he was upon Zen, wheels spinning like twin storms of fire and ice. With a flick, he hurled them outward, their arcs sharp and deadly. The air shrieked as the blades carved through it, one leaving a trail of frost, the other sizzling faintly with heat.

The crowd gasped as the wheels shot forward like streaks of lightning.

Zen's eyes narrowed. He stepped aside with a sharp movement, his body flowing with surprising agility for his size. The first wheel cut past him, close enough that the wind ruffled his hair. The second grazed his arm, sparking faintly, but his skin bore no mark. His body, hardened through endless training and reinforced with Qi, was like steel wrapped in flesh.

Zen clenched his fists, and the cestuses gleamed ominously as he charged forward. His roar reverberated like thunder, each step pounding the stone beneath his feet. The platform trembled as if struggling to withstand his weight.

Míng twisted, his form becoming a blur again as he ducked and sidestepped, wheels flashing in slashes too fast for most eyes to follow. Sparks erupted as metal met Qi-forged flesh, the wheels striking Zen's arms, shoulders, chest—yet none broke his defense. Zen absorbed the blows like a mountain enduring a storm.

And then, with a sudden pivot, Zen slammed a punch down at Míng's feet. The stone cracked open with an explosion of sound, shards spraying outward as the force reverberated across the platform. The shockwave forced Míng backward, his balance disrupted.

"Too reckless," an elder muttered from the stands. "Yet that raw force…"

Míng steadied himself, his eyes narrowing. He spun his wheels faster, until they were little more than glowing circles of red and blue. Then, in a burst of speed, he disappeared—his form flickering like a phantom. Gasps erupted from the audience as he reappeared behind Zen, the fire wheel slashing for his spine.

But Zen turned, forearm raised.Clang!

The sound rang like a hammer striking an anvil, echoing across the arena. Sparks rained as Qi clashed with sharpened steel.

The battle grew fiercer with every breath. Míng darted and struck from impossible angles, his wheels carving deadly arcs, each attack calculated to exploit gaps in Zen's defense. Zen answered with fists that split the air itself, each swing trailing a shockwave strong enough to make robes flutter in the stands. Every collision shook the platform, spiderweb cracks spreading wider and wider underfoot.

The audience could scarcely blink, lest they miss an exchange.

And then, Míng revealed his trick.

With a spin, he hurled both wheels outward. Instead of flying directly at Zen, they struck the fractured platform, bouncing and ricocheting at unnatural angles. The fire wheel screamed back from Zen's right; the frost wheel curved up from below, aiming for his ribs. At the same time, Míng lunged in, aiming a strike with his bare fist—baiting Zen to guard high.

A murmur rippled through the crowd."Brilliant!""He's forcing an opening!"

For an instant, it looked like the trap might succeed.

But Zen's eyes flashed with cold focus. His body blurred, faster than before. His fist snapped out, catching the fire wheel mid-spin. Qi surged through his arm, and the weapon shattered in his grip, fragments scattering like sparks in the wind. At the same moment, he stomped the frost wheel into the ground, pinning it with sheer force.

Míng's eyes widened, but before he could retreat, Zen's other fist crashed forward like a battering ram.

Boom!

Míng was flung back, blood spraying from his lips. He skidded across the platform, barely steadying himself. His shadowy form wavered, the aura of speed around him faltering.

The elders' eyes sharpened."He's drawing deeper," one whispered."He's on the verge of—"

Zen's Qi flared.

At first it was a ripple, faint and subtle. But in seconds, it surged into a storm. Energy whirled around him, his body outlined in radiant light. His fists glowed brighter and brighter, until each strike left behind trails of silver brilliance, as if carving afterimages into the air. The pressure rolling off him was suffocating.

The fourth stage.

Murmurs broke into shouts, the clan unable to contain themselves. "He broke through—on the battlefield!""A genius! A monster!"

Zen's smirk widened as he advanced. Now his fists were blurs, faster than even Míng's eyes could follow. Each strike detonated like thunder, each step cracked the platform further. He no longer needed to chase Míng—his very presence closed the distance, like a storm swallowing the horizon.

Míng fought desperately, spinning his lone remaining wheel in frantic arcs, his body flickering left and right. But Zen was relentless. Each blow he threw was not merely an attack but a declaration, a reminder of the gap between them.

Bam! Thud! Crack!

Stone exploded. Air warped. The arena thundered with every exchange.

Míng staggered, his movements slowing under the unyielding barrage. He was driven step by step toward the platform's edge, his speed unraveling under the crushing tide of Zen's power.

With a final, earth-shaking roar, Zen slammed his fist into the ground. The platform erupted, fissures tearing outward like spiderwebs beneath Míng's feet. The sudden upheaval launched him skyward, his body twisting helplessly.

Before he could land, Zen was already there. His body blurred, surging upward, fist crashing into Míng's jaw in a devastating uppercut.

The blow was like a mountain colliding with the sky.

Míng's body shot through the air, spinning violently before slamming into the ground outside the ring. His wheels clattered uselessly beside him, his hood torn back to reveal a pale, unconscious face.

The arena fell silent. Dust and fragments of stone drifted in the aftermath, the air thick with the remnants of unleashed Qi.

For a heartbeat, nothing moved. The crowd was frozen, still processing the sheer violence and brilliance of what they had witnessed.

Then came the eruption.

Cheering, roaring, screaming. The clan shouted Zen's name, voices shaking the very heavens. Elders whispered with grave expressions, both awed and wary. Rivals in the crowd clenched their fists in envy, some pale with fear, others burning with the desire to challenge him.

And at the centre of it all, standing tall upon the shattered remains of Platform Six—

Zen stood at the centre of the shattered platform, breathing heavily but victorious, his body aglow with residual Qi, the triumphant look in his eyes one of absolute dominance.

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